Steel
by PathosInitiative
Summary: Her cold arms and warm heart. Never again. Never again.
Torvus shifted in his seat and flipped to a new screen on his tablet. "Extensive modifications. Odd for New Loka," he said, looking over the screen. He paused to look up at her. "Why the long face, Nora?"

"Nothing. You already know my stance on this," she said shortly.

Torvus sighed and set the tablet down. He tapped a glowing symbol on the table between them and brought up a hologram of her body. Small graphics pointing to various portions of her body began to propagate and filled with text. "You're asking for something both prohibitively expensive and likely to fail." He pointed to her arms then her legs. "Easy enough. We can regrow these and splice them to you with minimal issue." He pointed to her head and then to various parts on her torso. "But the plates installed to reinforce your skull? Madness to try and replace them. The new organs you were given? We can't grow adequate replacements right now – at least, not any that won't have a very significant chance of failure." He sat back in his seat again and sighed, "Is it really so terrible to have these augmentations? The New Loka council has already declared that you are still a fully established member. You did not choose these changes for yourself. But you would have not survived if it hadn't been for the actions of Medic Ja'Kalo."

Nora winced involuntarily. "I don't care," she said after a beat.

Torvus stood and walked to the window to look out at Pluto. "I get the feeling you do. A bit more than you wish you did, even," he said quietly. "Tamari saved what she could. Kept you as whole as her kit allowed. She knew what the symbols on your suit meant. She knew you were New Loka. She knew you were an enemy." He turned about to look Nora in the eyes – she turned her head away from him and stared at the ground. "And you would do this kind of disservice to her memory?"

"They get in the way. They're bulky. They draw sideways glances and glares. They mean I have to wear a different kind of uniform. They're just not a part of me," said Nora. It was only with great difficulty she kept the shaking in her voice reasonably concealed.

The Perrin Sequence agent sat down across from her again. "Is that really what's bothering you? So much so that you'd in-debt yourself – considerably in-debt yourself, mind you – to the Perrin Sequence? We aren't the Corpus, Nora, you know that, and Steel Meridian isn't the Grineer, but I'll be damned if both organizations don't look just a bit like their estranged brethren. We even work together as much as we fight, just like the Grineer and Corpus."

"It doesn't matter the cost, I want it done. I won't feel right until it's done. All of it, even the internals. I want it all out of me," she said quietly. "Please." She looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "Please."

Torvus stood again and walked instead to a large panel. After a few taps at several buttons a large series of screens and holo-tickers came to life. His investments were booming, but the joy that usually brought him seemed to have forgotten to come. He pulled up a variety of documents and contracts and began to pin them to the corners of the screen. Under his breath he rattled off thoughts and numbers, "One hundred thousand, four million, ten thousand, standard exchange trumps black market, might have to check Maroo's for a deal, will have to ask for some favors, almighty Credit forbid I need to ask the Lotus..." He turned to face Nora and said flatly. "At least twenty million credits, and more platinum than you want to know. Could take something close to four months." His face fell into a grim frown. "Given the, ah, 'sympathetic' interest rates offered by some of my colleagues, I'd imagine you'd be well on your way to having this debt worked off in about a half-century."

Nora nodded. "Even then," she said steadily. "I want it done."

He strode over and sat down beside her. "You're mad," he said softly. "You can't pay that off. Live with them. It's what she'd have wanted-"

The New Lokan upended the table in a rage. "How the fuck would you know that?" she screamed at him. "How would you know anything at all about this? Just get these fucking things off my body!" Her chest heaved, and the rage in her seemed to spark anew at the impassive look on the man's face.

"Sit. You're grief-stricken and overreacting," he said somberly, "As you should be. But what you're trying to do isn't going to fix anything Nora. You'll still wake up and refuse to look yourself in the mirror. You'll never feel right in your own skin, organic or otherwise." He looked her in the eyes. "She's gone, Nora. And for want of not having to feel how you do, you'd tear out what she gave you to save your life." He tapped his temple. "But those aren't going anywhere."

Bitter memories flooded her head. Tamari's smile. Her unusual, bloodshot orange eyes. Her unusual insistence at getting into Nora's pants as she powered through denial after denial. Their first outing and every close shave they had avoiding those that either of the two of them knew. The interior of Tamari's cold, cramped room. Blurry nights and hot showers. The very last video message she ever got from her, the unearthly sounds of metal groaning and tearing. Tears burned in Nora's eyes.

Then, the words Tamari said to her after the operation that saved Nora's life echoed in her head: 'You're a damn sight nicer in gunmetal gray, if you ask me.'

Her chest still heaved, though only because her rage had broken and given way instead to painful, desperate sobs. She fell to her knees, and looked down at her cold, steel hands. Just like hers. She dug her face into them and wept.


End file.
